it's that time of the year again
by Merida's Hair
Summary: "This is what she gets for skipping four seminars. And not doing the reading for the last three weeks. She possibly regrets her entire existence. Emma stands up, rubs her eyes and jumps up and down a few times, willing life itself back into her weary limbs. Hot cocoa. She needs hot cocoa. She might also put vodka in the hot cocoa." The gang goes (suffers) through finals.


A/N: Somewhat based on a College AU developed with Katie, who is swanmills on tumblr. I wrote this instead of studying last night because irony is fun.

* * *

Emma looks up from her notes and blinks a few times, trying to get the bleary haze out. Just how long has she been studying? She moves her neck from side to side, wincing when she hears a definitive _crack_. She glances at the clock - _12:30 AM. _She's somehow managed to be hunched over her shitty wooden desk for_ nearly five hours. _

She traces the poorly drawn heart someone living here previously had etched into the side. Or maybe it was supposed to be a boob. A _uniboob. S_he giggles. Shit. She's delirious. She's been eating, breathing, and thriving on criminal law for so long she's not sure who she is. She might even _dream_ about it if she ever does get to sleep. That happened with econ once in freshman year. She didn't even know it was _possible_ to dream about marginal revenue. Also Professor Gold was in a corset, but that was a very different, highly _disturbing_ story. She once again tries, and fails, to wipe the image from her mind.

This is what she gets for skipping four seminars. And not doing the reading for the last three weeks. She possibly regrets her entire existence. Emma stands up, rubs her eyes and jumps up and down a few times, willing life itself back into her weary limbs. Hot cocoa. She needs hot cocoa. She might also put vodka in the hot cocoa. She's going to put vodka in the hot cocoa.

Killian is sitting at the kitchen table and his feet are propped on the chair next to him. He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, smoke curling out at short intervals. She coughs. She's told him time and time again to not smoke cigarettes in here, but whatever, she's too exhausted to argue. He greets her, she grunts in response. She opens the fridge, blinks a few times before going on a search for vodka. Crap. Crapcrapcrap no. _No_. It's gone. Killian probably drank it, the fucker. She needs vodka. She's going to cry. She goes to the cupboard, and yesthankgod she hadn't used up all of the hot cocoa. Or the cinnamon. Thank god no one but Mary Margaret shares that quirk, so the cinnamon is mostly left to her own devices.

After successfully managing to brew hot water, she goes to sit at the only unoccupied chair.

And finally notices what exactly he's is doing.

"Killian." She says and stares at what he's apparently been up to instead of studying.

"Yes, Swan?"

"You're rolling blunts. In my kitchen. At 12:30 at night." He stares at her with a brow raised like _of course, what else would I be doing. _Emma can barely remember her own name, so she just stares at him. And stares at the three neat rows of rolled up weed. She shouldn't be surprised, honestly.

"Yes I am, would you like one?"

She rubs her temples. "I'm studying, moron."

He pats her on the shoulder. She pushes his hand away. "You're quite tense. You could use one."

She stares at them, and for a moment they're really tempting. Too tempting. She can't fuck this up, she _really _can't. Fucking up means losing her scholarship. And she doesn't exactly have a _home_ or _parents _to be disappointed in her, but she'd be disappointed in her. That's worse, somehow.

"No thanks. But Killian-" She holds his gaze. "Why are you rolling blunts at 12:30 AM, the night before the first day of finals?"

He grins and rests his head on his crossed fingers. "I'm capitalizing on our student body's collective suffering, love. You wouldn't believe how high these sell. Even to wide-eyed brats who've never taken a hit in their _lives._"

She groans and runs her hands over her eyes. "You're literally terrible. God, I need to sleep."

"Then go to sleep." He goes back to rolling a blunt. In about ten seconds she's going to take a blunt. This is bad. This is really bad. Why wasn't the vodka there.

"No I don't need sleep." She leaps up. "I need to study more. And _you_ need to find a new place to do" she gestures at the entire mess on her kitchen table. Her nice one from Bed, Bath, and Beyond that's now going to smell like weed forever. How wonderful. "-that."

He snorts. "You're kicking me out at 12:30 AM, knowing full well that my apartment is a bus drive away. And that the buses all stopped at 11:00."

She blinks. Right, he got technically kicked out of the dorms. Which is why he's here, supposedly studying with her, but he gave up hours ago. God, she wants to do the same.

Emma looks over to her room, to the small desk with the heart-boob etching and the lamplight and _no._ She can't go back there. She needs a new setting. She could go to the library, but past experience shows that the library is more of a party than a study hall past like 1 AM, especially when everyone's lost it from finals week.

She catches the photograph stuck onto her refrigerator (two faces squishes together, one grinning, the other pretending not to) and smiles. She knows someone who will be up.

"I'm going to Regina's." She announces and goes to turn off the coffee maker and pack up her stuff.

"Swan, is this the best time to get horny?"

"Not for _that_." Although that might happen. But it probably won't. Because she knows the woman she's been steadily and strangely in love with for a few years now; Regina Mills and finals means lots of coffee, little sleep, and a lot of snapping at Mary Margaret until Mary Margaret locks herself in her room and ends up scurrying around the dorm like a mouse hiding from a cat.

This might be a bad idea.

But if there is anyone who Regina Mills wants to see during this trying time, it's Emma Swan, her lover and all that jazz.

Hopefully.

* * *

Mary Margaret opens the door with wide eyes and oh hell, is she _shaking?_

"Hi Emma!" She loudly whispers. She smiles at Emma, who smiles back uneasily as she's ushered in.

"Mary Margaret, how much caffeine have you had?"

She waves her hand in front of her face, and it looks like she's trying to swat away a very persistent fly. Emma has the mental image of her accidentally swatting herself in the face.

"Not that much, not really! I mean I've had two Starbucks singles, a latte with an extra shot of expresso, and maybe, _maybe_ a sip of Redbull-"

Emma stills her by placing two firm hands on her shoulders. "I think you need to lie down. Just. Lie down for an hour. I promise, it will all be okay."

Then Mary Margaret bursts into tears in Emma's arms. Shit. Oh goddamn. Now Regina _might_ kill her. She lives by the if-anyone-makes-Mary-Margaret-cry-it's-going-to-be-_me_ philosophy. The last time she fought with David, Regina nearly ripped his head off. Verbally. But the physical pain was probably real.

"Cal-calculus-" she sniffs loudly against Emma's shoulder, "is so _so_ horrible, Emma! Why did I wait _three years_ to take it. I'm going to fail. I'm going to _die._ You're going to have to bury my body in a ditch! What will I tell my Dad?"

Emma pats her shoulder. Twice. Yes. Comfort. She can do this. How did she get here again? She leads Mary Margaret to the couch and gingerly covers her with a blanket. Mary Margaret grabs the blanket from her and tucks herself under it until only her feet are showing.

"Thanks, Emma." She murmurs from under the blanket.

"Uh." She doesn't know how to respond to that. She really doesn't.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" She breathes a sigh of relief. Saved by her girlfriend. Even though Regina is very opposed to the word _girlfriend_.

"Hi." She breathes because suddenly everything is okay. Regina's wearing a giant college sweatshirt that could belong to _David_ it's so big, and a pair of Emma's plaid pajama pants that she left the last time she was here. This makes something in Emma's stomach tighten with warmth, breathe out contentment. The pants are a little long on Regina, so they're bunching up by her ankles. And she's wearing no makeup and her hair is frizzy and-

She's scowling. She's goddamn gorgeous.

"Ms. Swan." Oh shit. "Are you aware of the time?"

She shifts from foot to foot. Mary Margaret starts to snore. "Yes, but-"

Regina doesn't let her explain and just sighs and grabs her hand, laces their fingers together. And then they're in Regina's room where–predictably–there's a small and organized collection of textbooks and notebooks all over her bed. She doesn't like studying in a desk. She needs all of her books laid out in front of her and the desk is simply too cramped.

"Sorry." Emma finally gets out. "Killian was being a shit, and I couldn't study in that fucking awful room, and there was a boob etched-"

Regina silences her by cupping her cheeks and kissing her chastely, but firmly.

"You don't need to explain yourself. We'll discuss your inability to _call me ahead of time_ after the semester's over."

Emma reaches up to hold her hands, lightly stroking the wrists. "Thanks, sweetie."

Regina rolls her eyes. She also hates petnames. Emma also hates petnames, but she loves irritating Regina. But today she just lets it go and gently removes her hands from Emma's face before clearing a space for both of them on the bed.

"Tomorrow's criminal law, correct?"

Emma blinks. "Yeah. It's coming out of my ears at this point. Your mom might even be impressed by my latin."

Regina snorts and sits on the bed. She pats between her legs. "Luckily for you, dear, I studied criminal law last year. Get your books." Emma smiles because girlfriends who don't like to be called girlfriends make everything better and grabs her notes and textbooks out of her bag before she sits between Regina's legs and nestles somewhere between her collarbone and shoulder. Regina drops a kiss on the top of her head. She wraps her arms gently around Emma's waist.

Emma holds out her notes as Regina's voice rumbles soothing and low by her ear.

_"Now, federal law states..."_

* * *

Mary Margaret jolts awake.

Oh god, how long has she been sleeping? She glances at the lock. _5:00 AM. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh _no_. She has her calculus final in _three hours_. She's never going to learn these derivatives in that amount of time. She's had _months_ to learn them and she still doesn't understand _anything._

She stares at her notes again and her breathing shallows. Her eyelids begin to droop and she yawns.

Maybe she'll just...she'll just...

Sighing, she places the notebook down. It's useless. She's come to accept her fate. She's going to wake into the jaws of a crocodile, or whatever the metaphor is. And she doesn't _care. _She doesn't give a ..._fuck._ She giggles. This is almost fun, if it wasn't for the crushing panic she's trying to avoid.

Before going to sleep for a final two hours, she eyes Regina's dorm. Emma's a math minor, right? That's where her scholarship comes from? Darn, she should have asked her before. But she doesn't exactly remember what happened when Emma came over, only remembering Emma draping the blanket over her. Goodness, this is precisely why she _doesn't_ drink caffeine.

It's worth a longshot, but they might be up? Sometimes Regina pulls all-nighters before big tests. Emma might have stayed up with her.

She pushes open the door and _oh._ Emma's head is cushioned on Regina's...breast, and Regina's arms are around her and her chin is nestled somewhere on Emma's head. Emma sighs in her sleep and snores softly. Regina's expression is relaxed and this might be the most content Mary Margaret's seen her in weeks. _Oh my._ A smile graces her lips, the first genuine one she's had since her calculus professor handed her a huge review packet last Friday.

_Fuck math_, she thinks with an inward giggle.

She closes the door with a soft click.


End file.
